rambling cove

ʟᴀᴛᴇ 𝟸𝟶s⇪ || sᴘᴏʀᴀᴅɪᴄ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇʀ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴀɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ɪɴʙᴏx

[vylaris]

𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝙴 late 20s || she/her || sporadic writer

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 ╰☆ price your quiet smile 3 mistakes long way home (𝓃𝑒𝓌.ᐟ)

╰☆ ghost wrong package (𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓋 ‹𝟹) under his roof

╰☆ soap historical romance novel

╰☆ gaz post-shower

╰☆ cod men loving plush thighs (𝓃𝑒𝓌.ᐟ)

𝙿.𝚂. ❕ MDNI ❕ english is not my first language ❕ i write fem!reader with lighter skin tone in mind, since that's what i can relate to and feel most comfortable writing in

[vylaris]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒄𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒏 + 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒔 tags: suggestive, fem!reader

you can’t convince me these men wouldn’t appreciate a pair of plush, pillowy thighs.

price keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh during long drives. fingers flexing, tapping every now and then. sometimes jiggling them, whether he realises it or not.

when there hasn’t been another car for quite some time, his hand starts to wander higher along the inside of your thigh. he just grunts when you glance at him.

“need somethin’ to keep me awake, love.”

honestly? you stop pretending to mind. not when you know those thick fingers can work absolute magic.

simon likes seeing evidence of himself on you. rough hand gripping until faint fingerprints bloom across your skin.

he’ll stare at them afterward. there’s something deeply possessive in the way he looks over the marks, eyes going darker by the second.

“look at tha’,” he murmurs, voice rough enough to send heat down your spine. “fits me hand perfect, don’t it.”

it’s a proof that you’re real. and his.

johnny would be shameless about it. pinching your thighs every chance he gets just to hear you complain about him being annoying.

the real danger starts when his teeth suddenly sink into the meat of your thigh like some needy mutt, just enough to make you jolt.

then he kisses and licks the mark like that fixes anything. grinning widely when he sees the imprint he left behind.

“coulnae help maself, bonnie.”

kyle is gone the second he rests his head in your lap. completely gone. the way you play gently with his curls, fingers massaging his scalp while his eyes flutter shut…

it would make any man melt. 

“my sweet girl takin’ such good care of me.”

but be aware, this soft man might turn feral in a moment, fighting the overwhelming urge to drag his tongue along the inside of your thigh just to hear the sound you’d make for him.

graves is totally not staring at how your thighs fill out those slacks today.

he insists on wedging onto the couch beside you that is clearly too small for two people, “helping” you dig through stacked folders for a contract that he misplaced.

when he runs his mouth again to defend himself, you nudge your thigh to push him out of the way.

“careful, darlin’.” he catches your thigh before you can pull away, thumb pressing slow into the soft flesh there. “keep this up and i’m gonna forget we’re workin’.”

alejandro’s hands always drift to your thighs whenever he pulls you close. you’re never safe wearing a shorter skirt or dress near him.

loves putting you on top of the counter, spreading your legs just enough so he can stand between them with heat in his eyes.

“how’s a man supposed to stay respectful with these thighs wrapped around him, cariño?”

the worst part? that devastating grin turns downright smug when your legs part wider for him without you even realizing it.

and rudy - our sweet, disciplined rudy - pretends to be better than the rest of them.

but one look at your thighs in shorts and suddenly he’s wishing for the old rosary his abuela gave him years ago, the one sitting forgotten on the bedside table shelf.

he shuts his eyes with a quiet curse in spanish.

“dios mío you’re gonna be the death of me.”

as if gripping those worn beads could save him from every impure thought clawing through his head right now.

…and if any of these men ever catch you feeling insecure about your thighs - hating their size, disgusted by those dimples and ripples of cellulite, yada yada yada - best believe they’ll have many ways of reminding you just how much they love them.

⤷ MASTERLIST

a/n is this self-indulgent? yes. much love to all the girlies out there who are insecure with their thighs 🫶

[shadow0-1]

Bravo 6-1

[vylaris]

it’s been a hot minute since i appreciated this fine man

[vylaris]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒑 𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉 + 𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍 tags: attempt at humor, slightly suggestive, fem!reader

johnny, who can’t resist the extra toffee pudding of their rat pack when gaz says, “all for ye if ye help my cousin’s photoshoot. body only, no face.”

johnny, who really should’ve asked what kind of photoshoot it is.

a fitness magazine, he thought. one of those topless calendars at worst.

and now? now he’s standing only in a kilt that barely covers his arse, finding out he’s the rogue highlander on a bargain-bin historical romance novel’s cover.

“lookin’ good, tav.” gaz, of course, shows up on shoot day just to make sure he doesn’t bail.

“shut yer gob before i shove it in—”

then you shyly walk in behind gaz’s cousin in a dress that is definitely not historically accurate and his jaw drops.

neckline? low.

corset? cinched so tight it pushes and plumps up your breasts.

skirt? split at the side, showing a dangerous amount of thigh to mankind.

johnny, who suddenly isn’t so mad at being tricked.

not when the first pose has him behind you, arms snug around your waist, head so close to your neck he can catch the scent that’s all yours.

“ach, relax, bonnie,” he murmurs, breath brushing your skin. “just picture me rescuin’ ye from the enemy clan. swept ye right off yer feet.”

you chuckle, tension slipping away as you lean into him, feeling more comfortable.

he walks off set with your number saved, a date lined up, and that smug grin like he’s just won a prize.

(he has. it’s you.)

later, he asks begs gaz’s cousin to lend him the book. reads it from front-to-back in 2 days flat and dog-ears the chapters where the heroine gasps and the hero’s hands wander.

johnny, who takes all little details very, very seriously.

especially when it involves pinning you against the wall and undoing your corset strings with his teeth.

⤷ MASTERLIST

[vylaris]

oh? this is suddenly gaining loves and rbs a year after it got posted. thank you to whoever first rb-ed it 🥹

[dot41g]

it all started with the thought that Ghost, without his headset, resembled a dumb seal....

[vylaris]

i wanna chomp him ฅ^> Ⱉ <^ฅ

[vylaris]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 + 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, fem!reader

let’s think about the first time you met john price. just one of those nights at an unassuming bar where neither of you had intended to make conversation with anyone.

then a waiter slipped, fries and beers raining all around. both of you moved at the same time, rushing over on instinct to make sure the poor guy was alright.

after the mess was sorted, you found yourselves sharing a glance, offering each other an almost reluctant smile, and exchanged a few words.

it would’ve been easy to return to your separate corners after that.

but one conversation turned into another.

another turned into the occasional evening spent catching up over a drink.

it wasn’t a date. never a date. just a comfortable, no-pressure meeting with a… friend?

next, you learned that price was in the military. he never shared too many stories, but you heard enough about the ones who had his back.

and sometimes, when he came home from deployment, he showed up at your door with a tired smile and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“got a spare couch for a few days?”

the door was already opening wider to let him through. “only if you leave the muddy boots by the door.”

the first time he invited you to a barbecue at his place, you almost didn’t go. it would be interesting to finally see his comrades, yet the introverted side of you kept insisting it would be awkward.

“you sure they won’t mind?” you asked, mulling the idea over.

john, he’d insisted you call him that now, let out a low huff on the other end of the line. “havin’ someone normal ’round might do ’em some good.” there was a hint of a grin in his voice.

when you arrived, his house smelled like grilled meat and charcoal smoke. the rest of the team came into view.

a tall masked man leaned against the fence, listening to whatever the mohawked man was yapping about.

the man in the baseball cap was laughing near the cooler with a sharp-eyed woman, sipping something fizzy.

those sharp eyes clocked you immediately as john guided you closer.

his big, warm hands settled on your shoulders, giving a reassuring squeeze that kept you from fleeing.

“everyone,” he said casually, “this is her.”

all eyes locked on you, and you tried not to cringe under the sudden attention.

“didn’t know you had friends outside of us, sir,” the mohawk quipped.

“pipe down, mactavish.”

the day turned out far better than you’d expected.

kyle, the man with the million-dollar smile, and johnny, the one who could never seem to stay still, turned out to be hilarious storytellers.

you found yourself chatting with kate about the places you’d travelled, realising she had a stern yet motherly air about her.

a gruff “thank you” was even earned from the tall masked man - simon, you learned his name - after offering him a second helping of the dessert you baked. you’d noticed how he’d practically vacuumed down the first plate. even helped you rinse the baking dish afterward.

the dreaded question never came. no one asked what you were to john price.

what you missed, though, were the knowing looks they shared when you casually snatched the tongs from the captain to help him flip the burgers while he insisted he had everything under control.

it was not the first time they heard about you, after all.

it stayed that way for a while.

john would disappear for weeks, sometimes months.

then it became routine for him to text whenever a deployment was ending, never failing to show up at your doorstep once he was back.

there were always new scrapes and bruises that concerned you.

and sometimes, there was a hollow look in his eyes, times when he hovered a little closer than usual, like he needed to be near someone untouched by whatever he’d seen out there.

he’d stay a few days. sleep. drink coffee on your balcony. fix random things around your apartment.

before long, the rest of the team slipped into your life too. easy laughter, familiar faces.

and then john would be called to another mission.

neither of you ever tried to define what you were to each other.

back in 2d

you’d grown used to receiving simple texts from random numbers. burner phones, non-traceable, john had mentioned before.

the quickening of your heart was just excitement from seeing him safe and sound again, you assured yourself.

three days passed. then four.

missions ran long. something might come up at the last minute, you convinced yourself.

still…

when the doorbell rang on the fifth evening, you rushed to the door so fast your slipper slid against the floor.

john would’ve scolded you for opening the door before checking who it was—

simon.

alone.

“fuck!” the tall man’s hands shot under your arms.

if it hadn’t been for his fast reflexes, your kneecaps might’ve slammed to the floor with how fast your body gave out.

your voice came out thin. “is he…?”

“he’s alive—price is alive!”

like a marionette with its strings cut, your limp body was dragged inside by this mountain of a man. he made sure you were steady in the chair before returning with a glass of water.

“hospital,” simon said after making sure you took a sip. “banged up, but he’s tough.”

your hands were still shaking.

“woke up and told us to pass it on. didn’t wanna have you worryin’.”

simon let out a quiet sigh, knowing your reaction was more than friendly concern.

for two grown adults, the pair of you were fookin’ clueless.

a week later, john was sitting on your couch with his leg stretched out, still wrapped in a brace. 

the stubborn expression that told you he already thought he was healed enough was clear on his face.

before handing his second beer of the night, you reminded him, “doctor said no running, no tinkering about, and no being stubborn.”

john snorted. “doctor says a lot of things.”

“you’re lucky i convinced him i’d look after you instead of letting you stay at the hospital.”

“and miss this five-star hospitality?” he said, taking the bottle. “would’ve been a bloody tragedy.”

you rolled your eyes at his sarcasm. for a while, the room was quiet.

eventually, he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“you didn’t sign up for this.”

not following his line of thought, you looked at him, confused.

“for taking care of me.” he gestured vaguely at the brace, the couch. “should’ve spent your saturday out with some bloke who can actually look after you.”

you frowned. “you know i’m not looking to date—”

“that’s not the point.”

silence filled the room.

“figured it was better this way. us not bein’ together.”

“john—”

he cut you off. “just… let me finish.”

“didn’t want you lyin’ awake, wonderin’ if i was still breathin’ somewhere halfway ’round the world,” he continued quietly. “didn’t want you waitin’ for a knock at the door, someone tellin’ you i’m comin’ home in a box if i’m lucky.”

the words sat heavy in the space between you.

“but i’m a selfish bastard,” he added roughly. “still want you in my life.”

a prickling burn filled your eyes. “you’re unbelievable.”

he blinked.

“my heart stopped when i saw simon at my door. i thought you were dead, john!”

the way you said his name made his chest tighten. the tears slipping down your cheeks nearly undid him.

“i’ve always known what your job means. i’ve known the risks when i let you into my life. i know one day something could go wrong.”

“love—”

“maybe i’ve always hoped there’d be something more. but you never said anything, and i didn’t want to ruin whatever this is between us.”

you drew in a shaky breath, fighting to keep your voice steady.

“if you think keeping your distance was protecting me from the worst”—embarrassedly, you wiped at your cheeks—“you were a little late.”

something in his expression shifted then. like a wall he’d kept carefully built finally cracking.

“bloody hell. c’mere.”

before you could react, he tugged you down onto the couch. a quiet grunt of pain escaped him.

“john—your leg—” you protested.

“i’ll live.” his arm slid around your shoulders, gathering you close against his chest. “pain is proof this is real.”

he dropped his face to your hair, breathing you in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“i’m an idiot.”

calloused thumb brushed gently beneath your eyes, wiping away the last traces of tears. he leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. 

then another, softer, deeper, when his lips found yours. lingering longer this time, tasting the faint salt of your tears.

“could’ve done this ages ago, eh?”

you sniffed, playfully smacking his chest.

“well,” he murmured, basking in the warmth of your skin, eyes soft under that gruff exterior. “think i owe you a proper date, yeah?”

“took you long enough.”

for the first time that evening, he let out a real laugh.

his hand slid warmly along your arm as he held you closer. “better late than never.”

later that night, after you’d fallen asleep in his arms, john’s phone lit up. a new group chat message blinked on the screen.

she kicking you out yet, cap?

chuckling softly, he typed back:

seems keen on keeping me around might move in together after all

almost immediately, an all-caps FINALLY appeared.

⤷ MASTERLIST

[mawvax]

A Short Comic ft Price & Simon

This idea spawned from the thought: What if Price knew Simon before Ghost? That's why he said "It's good to see you again Simon." during the whole mask scene. To me, Price is a guy that puts a lot on himself. So... this came out.

[vylaris]

this tears my heart apart in a good way

[palesweetdeeer]

this is so fucking stupid lmfao

[vylaris]

ale being the most excited one is too cute ahshsjskc

[vylaris]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 + 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 tags: fluff, comfort, fem!reader

john price can’t help but notice you sitting alone in the corner.

every now and then, you look up and scan the room, head bobbing slightly to the music.

then your eyes catch the bride and groom, and you smile. genuine, warm even.

but there’s a hidden sadness. longing.

like you’re thinking, that kind of love won’t happen to me.

“y’know,” ghost mutters dryly beside him, “‘d be faster to get rejected if you actually said somethin’ first.”

price grunts and takes a drag of his cigar. annoyed at getting caught staring.

gaz chimes in, “thought you’re a man of action, cap.”

he gives them both a flat look. “piss off.”

and yet his eyes drift back to you. wrapped in a tight hug with the bride now, the two of you laughing in that easy, unguarded way close friends do.

then soap calls out to his now-wife. she kisses your cheek and pulls away.

and there it is again.

that same smile. soft, but distant. like you’re happy for her, but can’t help feeling like you’re watching something just out of reach.

something twists inside him. he wants to reach you, soothe that quiet ache in you.

“better move ‘fore someone else thinks she’s the prettiest bird in the room.”

that’s when price spots a bloke near the drinks table, throwing glances your way and already whispering to his friends.

so he stubs out his cigar and steps forward. ignoring gaz’s “finally” and ghost’s amused heh heh heh.

you don’t notice him at first. too focused on pretending to scroll through your phone.

but when he gets close, your eyes jump up to him in surprise. then comes the flicker of recognition.

“captain price,” you greet him warmly.

as a close friend of the bride, you’ve met him a few times before. polite hellos, a couple of shared drinks at the bar when she dragged you along to celebrate after their missions.

“just john, love.” he nods at the vacant seat beside you. “mind if i join you?”

you blink, caught off guard, but then your expression softens. “of course…john.”

hearing his name on your lips sends a stirring warmth through his chest.

“bit rowdy in here, eh?” he gestures towards the shrieking group of girls with their arms up for the bouquet throw. “figured i’d check on the one person not battlin’ for a bunch of flowers.”

that pulls a soft laugh from you.

“already told her i’m not joining,” you say with a small shrug. “she tried the whole fate talk again but i’m not having it.”

price leans in slightly. “smart girl. can’t have fate chuckin’ things at your head and callin’ it romance.”

and as he watches you laugh again, fuller this time, eyes crinkling at the corners as you look at him, john price knows one thing for sure.

he’ll make damn sure that smile never turns sad again.

⤷ MASTERLIST

[vylaris]

alone again at a close friend’s wedding tonight but no john price for me 😭

fic was literally sadly inspired by always being the awkward one and standing/sitting in a corner without a +1 at weddings

[lanialania00]

sean fuertes en estas épocas y cuidesen mucho

[vylaris]

am alone every christmas and need a hug from ghost too 😔

[vylaris]

I LOVE SIMON WESTERN AU why is it not gaining more loves???

are you planning to write for the others still??

ngl i was hoping for under his roof to have more reads too, but thank YOU for loving it 🥺

i have price's as a wip, but nothing planned out yet for johnny and gaz as of now

[vylaris]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚 + 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒇 wc: 1.3k tags: mdni, western au, historical, lil smut, marriage of convenience (implied), fem!reader

a retired gunslinger, they said.

he was supposed to be unwanted by the people in town. too rough. too dangerous. but not even a few days in, and he’d already taken to wrestling roughneck miners with mischief and malice in their eyes. trouble enough that even the sheriff struggled.

after that, people loved him. 

the old folks called him a blessing. the children called him a hero. the unmarried and married ladies called him deliciously, dangerously virile.

and you? you called him—

“ghost sure can’t keep his eyes off you.” your close friend, the saloon proprietor, watched him from over your shoulder.

wherever you were, he was somehow always around. like a phantom lingering at the edges of your world. never too close to touch, yet close enough that you could feel him.

the man was speaking with sheriff price. or more like, sheriff price was doing the talking.

you’d have asked her what the sheriff was doing in the saloon, alone, and before opening time at that. you weren’t blind to the stolen glances between them.

but that thought died quick when ghost—mr. riley—stepped in, just as you were setting down the goods your friend had ordered before the storm rolled in.

your skin prickled whenever he was close. the man, in all his brutal allure, was like a walking sin. broad-shouldered temptation wrapped in scars.

and you were no better than the ladies in town, curiosity gnawing at your ribs, wondering what it might feel like to touch something so forbidden.

at night, those impure thoughts worsened. rousing you to clammy skin and want.

later, the storm rolled in like god himself had thrown down his anger. you were halfway through latching the mercantile when a rough hand caught the door.

“riders were spotted not three miles out. your father’s debts got them comin’ hard again.”

sheriff price must have shared about your situation. as much as your father—may he rest in peace—was a good man, the cards and dice had eaten him alive. now you bore the weight of his debts.

“i’ve managed before.” you tried to push the door shut, but his grip was iron.

“these ain’t the kind to haggle. they’ll collect what’s owed, one way or ’nother.”

pointedly, mr. riley’s eyes cut to your body, the meaning sinking in like ice through your veins.

“so i’m supposed to just leave everything behind?”

his eyes flicked past your shoulder, landing on the bucket catching water from the roof, the lamp sputtering on its last bit of oil, to the near-bare shelves that were a poor excuse for a mercantile.

shouldering in, the rain dripped from his duster, wetting the floorboards. “you stay here, you’ll be as dead as a rabbit caught in a snare. my place sits on higher ground, few know it’s mine. safer.”

what madness!

as if the pitying glances after your father’s death weren’t enough, he was suggesting something highly improper for an unmarried lady: staying in a man’s house unchaperoned.

before you could protest further, sheriff price pushed in through the storm. he shook water from his coat, gaze landing on you, then slid to mr. riley with knowing weight.

“riley’s right,” the sheriff said, voice gruff. “safer you bunk down with him. i’ll do what i can in town, but i can’t be everywhere at once.”

“and if folk talk?”

sheriff price shrugged, but his eyes softened. “folks always talk. better to be gossiped about than buried.”

it wasn’t until she spoke did you notice your friend had slip in behind the sheriff. her voice gentler than his when she urged, “go. don’t make this harder.”

that was how it happened. riding with mr. riley through the storm, his solid frame at your back, shielding the worst of it.

by the time he hauled you into his cabin, you were shivering, drenched to the bone. the tall man set to lighting a fire, then shrugged off his soaked hat, duster and gloves.

with the fabric plastering against your skin, you tried to tug it looser, only to catch his gaze following the movement, his expression unreadable.

“you’ll catch your death in that.”

“i’ll survive.” though your teeth chattered.

his jaw flexed. “don’t reckon you quite understand. you’re under my roof now. means i’ll keep you alive, even if you fight me on it.”

mr. riley stepped closer, and your pulse drummed.

“take it off,” he said lowly, nodding at your calico dress.

“e-excuse me?”

“before you freeze.” he paused, then turned his back to fill the kettle. the jar he unsealed released the unmistakable aroma of coffee.

knowing fever would claim you otherwise, and with no other logical choice, your trembling fingers fumbled at the buttons of your bodice. shame biting hard at being caught in such a compromising state.

a roughspun blanket cocooned you once you’d stripped down to your chemise. warm breath stirred the fine hairs at your temple, and the room suddenly felt too small.

the blanket slipped when you turned. in the haste to clutch it tighter, your fingers brushed his.

that single touch lit something between you. he stilled. gaze dropping to your mouth. the flames painted his face in gold and shadow, accentuating the scars on his face.

“we shouldn’t…” you whispered, though the way you leaned into him betrayed your own resolution.

somewhere along the way, good sense had fled. it was only curiosity, you told yourself. the need to know if his heat burned as fierce as the fire.

the kiss came rough, stealing the breath from your lungs. you gasped against him, a sharp sound he swallowed greedily. the whole cabin tilted when his tongue brushed yours.

mr. riley’s hand gripped your waist through the blanket, hauling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. you should’ve stopped him. pushed him back. instead, your fingers fisted tighter in his shirt.

in the next breath, your back sank into the mattress as his weight settled over you. both naked as the day you were born. but there was no coldness, only heat.

“mr. riley—”

“shh.” his mouth dragged along your throat, a subtle graze from his teeth arched your back. “it’s simon.”

strong fingers splayed over your thigh, rough callouses scraping your skin, baring more of you to the fire’s glow. those dark brown eyes clouded with hunger.

simon’s mouth descended again, this time lower, to your breasts, where he leisurely suckled on your nipples, over your stomach, and down until he was tasting you, devouring you like a man who has been famished.

the cry tore from your throat as you clutched the coarse sheets. his tongue stroked deep until he pushed you over the edge. his name breaking from your lips like a prayer.

the feeling of the blunt head of him pressing against your slick entrance cut through the haze.

“simon, wait—”

breath ragged, body trembling, he halted. “do you want me to stop?”

you quickly denied, but it was hard to look into his eyes when you whispered, “this is not my first time.”

a murderous glint flashed in his eyes. “did someone hurt you?”

heat flushed your cheeks. “n-no. just…it wasn’t pleasant.”

this time, his hard mouth curved. not in humour, but in pure male satisfaction. “then i’ll make damn sure you forget all ‘bout it, darlin’.”

slowly, inexorably, he pushed inside, stretching you full. it was too much and not enough at the same time.

it felt as if a wanton goddess had been unleashed, as though some long-buried yearning had at last been quenched. you needed him to move, canted your hip even.

instead, simon pressed your cheek, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“take my name, and not a soul will dare touch you.” suddenly his hips recoiled and advanced, thrusting him deep within you. “they won’t breathe easy with ghost watchin’.”

⤷ MASTERLIST

a/n thinking of turning this into a western au mini series with the other boys. may have dropped a hint with price 🤫

[dot41g]

pat again

[lanialania00]

Ghost resurrected to contain the beast

[vylaris]

comedy gold

[friarslantern]

[vylaris]

oh— 😳

[vylaris]

More price please 🤲🏻

3 mistakes is here! sorry it took me a while (hope you find your way back to my profile and see this)

[vylaris]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭….. 𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 + 𝟑 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 tags: power dynamic (ish), tension, insecure fem!reader

work on base is always the same. a set of ranks and names to memorise, infinite paperwork, and the unspoken rules of what to ignore and when to speak up.

until captain john price breaks that routine.

swinging by your desk to hand the file over in person.

plucks the coffee tin that mysteriously always sits on the highest cupboard, passing it to you with a quiet, “they ought to put this lower.”

then there are those blue eyes, warm as they lock with yours, until you’re the one to break away.

and you know what that look meant. you’re not clueless.

but you’ve also been there before, and it always ends the same.

disappointed. slowly convinced that you’re the problem after being charmed by a pair of kind eyes and a smile that lingered just a little too long again.

so you ignore it. ignore him.

and you know he knows you’re ignoring him.

it works for a while, right before a sergeant kyle garrick reminds you that last-minute reports need to be on the captain’s desk before the night is out.

hours later and you’re in the captain’s empty office, delivering the report and ready to make a quick exit.

“keep doin’ that, love, i’ll start thinkin’ you’re runnin’ off from me.”

startled, you turn around. a hand over your drumming heart.

“i-i’m not running, sir.”

“no?” price steps in, and your gaze catches on the sway of his hips. always that same leisurely rhythm.

but there's nothing leisurely in him.

heat rolls off his body in tidal waves, licking at your skin, even when he stops at a distance. “sure seems like you’re tryin’ awful hard to avoid me.”

there’s no way out of this by playing dumb.

not when his eyes are locked on you like a predator testing how long its prey will stand still.

“i just don’t want to mistake a bit of kindness or a certain look for something more.”

somehow, that amuses him. he closes the space at an unhurried pace, giving you ample time to step back.

you don’t.

“and how d’you reckon i’m lookin’ at you?”

a swallow. a pause of hesitation. then a small whisper, “like you want me.”

calloused fingers brush along your cheek, lingering, before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“clever girl. clever enough to know i want you, and clever enough to pretend you don’t.” a thumb hooks under your chin, tilting your face up. “‘cause you fill that pretty head with all the reasons why i shouldn’t. that’s your first mistake.”

the scent of tobacco and roasted coffee wraps around you, warm and heavy, until your head feels light.

“second mistake, believin’ the version you’ve built of yourself is the one i see.”

price’s molten gaze measures how much longer you’ll resist before breaking.

“and the third?” his tone drops rougher now, “thinkin’ you get to decide if you’re worth it to me.”

“captain,” the word trembles off your lips. whether from nerves or want, you can’t tell. “what do you want from me?”

his hand finds your waist, thumb tracing slow over the curve of your hip, and your knees nearly buckle. “everythin’ holdin’ you back. even the parts you’re certain i won’t have.”

price leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“piece by piece, love. and when i’m done, you’ll never doubt again that you were always more than enough.”

⤷ MASTERLIST

a/n this ended up way more emotional than i meant for it to be